The Empire Builder

My train is an hour late.
When I finally board
I sit by a west window
And keep an eye on the Hudson,
The low clouds
Touching the trees and
The grand isolated homes on the other side.
I imagine a lonely woman inside one of the larger white houses
Sitting at a breakfast nook
Gazing out at the water and
My train speeding south.
I try to connect with her telepathically
Wanting to feel what it's like to be wealthy
And wake up in a quiet estate
Wearing slippers
Fetching the paper from the gravel path,
Working the crossword over a cup of fresh coffee
As the 280 from upstate passes
And wondering why her husband has come home late
Three nights in a row.
The train stops short of the Rhinecliff station.
Something's wrong.
I get off and walk the rest of the way
Looking for something better.

© Poem Fix 2012
Image: David Hermeyer and Samuel Wantman

No comments:

Post a Comment